Awakening Love: Reborn to Be His Duchess Chapter 471: The Snare Tightens

When he heard those last two words, Alaric's eyes narrowed slightly, the kind of subtle reaction that gave away just how quickly his mind was turning.

That part's true. Father probably has no idea.

If he went to the royal study under the excuse of reporting on today's negotiations and casually brought up that his uncle's leg had recovered, it would not necessarily lead to punishment, but it would plant doubt, and doubt alone could be enough to shift favor.

With that thought settling into place, Alaric rose and headed straight for the king's study.

The moment he stepped out of the Hall of Imperial Grace, Iris called after him in a low voice, "Your Highness."

He did not slow or turn, his gaze fixed ahead as he responded, "Yes?"

"Are you going to see His Majesty to accuse the Duke of Duskmoor?"

Alaric's tone carried faint impatience. "Isn't that obvious?"

Iris pressed her lips together, hesitating just long enough to catch his attention.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You don't think I should?"

She did not answer directly, her brows drawing together as she chose her words with care. "The duke has always been cautious, and he and His Majesty have spent a lifetime understanding one another. When he appeared at the Stargazer Pavilion, he went to the palace soon after. I cannot know what was said, but it seems very likely he had already told His Majesty about his recovery."

Alaric slowed, then stopped altogether.

A moment later, the implication sank in.

Of course.

His uncle was not careless.

More likely, he had already revealed the truth and then deliberately continued the act, waiting.

So this was never about hiding anything. This was about a trap.

Today's negotiations had included a martial exhibition, and his uncle had known it from the start.

He had been waiting for Alaric to make a move, waiting for him to push, so he could turn the moment around and make him look reckless and small.

The more he followed the thread, the clearer the pattern became.

It was not just one trap, but several layered together.

His uncle had likely anticipated that he would take the matter to the king, and when that happened, the blame would not fall where Alaric intended.

It would fall on him.

A cold sweat broke across his back. If Iris had not spoken when she did, he might have walked straight into it.

Alaric turned to look at her fully now, his gaze sharpening.

This woman was far more perceptive than Galen ever had been.

Lowering his voice, he asked, "So what would you do?"

Iris lowered her head slightly, her voice soft as a draft slipping through a stone corridor. "I wouldn't dare claim I have a solution. I only thought... the air is still bitter this time of year, and Your Highness has already had a long day. It might be better to return to your own wing for now."

Alaric studied her for a long moment before giving a quiet, noncommittal response. "Fine."

The rest of the walk passed in silence, his earlier resolve replaced with a heavier, more cautious mood.

When they returned to the Crown Prince's Wing, he went straight into his chamber.

Iris moved to follow, but Tristan stepped in her path, lowering his voice. "It's late. I'll see His Highness settled. You should get some rest."

"I need a word with him."

Tristan hesitated, clearly reluctant, but eventually stepped aside.

Inside, Alaric stood by the window, looking out into the darkened courtyards where iron sconces cast wavering light along the stone paths.

He turned at the sound of her steps, the candlelight shifting across his features.

Before he could speak, Iris lowered herself into a deep, formal bow.

He said nothing, yet the weight of his attention pressed down on her, sharp and assessing.

Keeping her head lowered, she steadied her breath. "I know Your Highness holds no fondness for the Duke of Duskmoor. I may have a thought, though it is a clumsy one. It might still be of some use."

One of his brows lifted slightly.

He stepped closer, then lowered himself so they were nearly at eye level, the dark fabric of his robe spreading across the floor.

"Go on," he said.

At the far end of the palace road, Cassian was making his way toward the main gates.

Dominic kept pace beside him, his smile stretched thin with effort.

"I've been meaning to ask, how has Rodney been lately?"

His tone was overly warm, his hands clasping and rubbing together as he spoke. "If not for his guidance years ago, I would never have made my way in court. Now that he's getting older, I find myself worrying about his health more often."

Cassian cast him a glance, one so cold it seemed to strip the warmth from the air.

Dominic instinctively shrank back.

"If you're so concerned," Cassian said, his voice flat and cutting, "you could visit him yourself. You both live in Vanelle. Or is the concern only for show?"

Dominic's smile faltered.

Cassian did not stop there. "He didn't sponsor me. So what exactly are you expecting, that I call on him for you tonight, then report back in the morning so you can feel at ease?"

Each word landed clean and sharp.

Dominic felt the back of his tunic dampen as cold sweat spread across his skin.

Cassian stopped suddenly.

Dominic nearly walked into him, stumbling as he tried to regain his footing.

"You're still following me," Cassian said, his expression unreadable. "Planning to stay the night at my manor? Should I send my wife away and make room for you instead?"

Dominic's composure collapsed completely as he lowered himself in a hurried, awkward bow. "Your Grace, I wouldn't dare..."